


Sadie Hawkins Day

by lookninjas



Series: The Man Behind the Curtain (Ben!verse) [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Brief descriptions of the aftermath of an assault, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6101619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's normal for Blaine to want to go to prom, and most families would just give him a budget and a curfew and send him on his way.  But their family is not most families, and Blaine is not most boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sadie Hawkins Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Sadie Hawkins Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8955520) by [Klaineship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klaineship/pseuds/Klaineship)



> I feel like this fic is pretty unremittingly bleak. I'm not entirely sure why. Mostly, I just need to get it out of my system. (For the curious -- in my imagination, Blaine's father is being played by [Michael Emerson](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Emerson). This may or may not show.)

He sighs and folds his paper in his lap, glancing briefly at his son before turning his gaze to the china cabinet on the far wall, steeling himself for a fight. "Honestly, Blaine, I'm not sure that this is such a good idea."

It's not the first time they've had this conversation.

It is, however, the first time Blaine hasn't really argued.

"I know," he says, quietly, and sinks into the couch next to his father. Ben turns to look at him, surprised. "And I don't entirely disagree. I know that Kurt believes that things are different at McKinley now, and I want him to be right. I honestly do. But I just... I don't think things can change that quickly. One person, maybe. But not all of them."

"And yet," Ben says. Because for all that Blaine is speaking of caution, his eyes are resolute, his jaw is set, and it's obvious that, although he realizes that this is a mistake, he's still determined to make it. "You're still going."

"This is... important," Blaine says, finally. "To Kurt."

When he speaks again, Ben keeps his voice calm and steady. He does not raise his eyebrow. He doesn't even look at his son for fear of what might show; he fixes his eyes on the china cabinet again, and this time, he keeps them there. "And to you?"

"This is important to Kurt," Blaine repeats, quietly. "And Kurt is important to me."

"I see," Ben says, and takes another deep breath. He wants to grab Blaine by the shoulders and shake him; he wants to shout that, as important as Blaine thinks this boy is, he can't be more important than Blaine's safety, than Blaine's _life_. He wants to do a lot of things that will no doubt send Blaine out of the room, possibly even out of the house, but he is not going to do any of them. "This school... Kurt left it for a while, didn't he?"

He glances over just in time to see Blaine's jaw clench a little bit.

"Yes, sir."

Ben settles his hands over the newspaper folded in his lap; his palms are sweating slightly, a nervous habit he can't really control. "Because he was being bullied?"

It's Blaine's turn to close his eyes and breathe deeply. "Yes, sir."

"And the students involved, were they expelled?"

"No. _Sir_."

Ben swallows hard.

The problem is that his son isn't asking for anything unreasonable. It's normal for Blaine to want to go to prom, particularly now that he's found someone who will go with him, and most families wouldn't think twice about giving him a budget and a curfew and sending him on his way. But their family is not most families, and Blaine is not most boys, and it is hard to send him on his way, knowing what could happen.

He turns to look at his son, really _look_ at him. Blaine is staring straight ahead (presumably at the china cabinet); his hands are folded in his lap, and his jaw is set. But there's color high in his cheeks, and a muscle twitching in his jaw; his eyebrows are drawn together just a little bit. Ben thinks, not for the first time, that it's strange that he and Blaine can be so alike and yet nothing alike at all. "But you're still going."

Blaine nods, still staring straight ahead. "Yes, sir."

Ben unfolds his paper with a snap, shaking it out. The words blur in front of his eyes; he blinks, but they refuse to come into focus. "I suppose you'll want an extension on your curfew," he says, and his voice doesn't shake at all. "I'll have a word with your mother about it."

 

*

 

He still doesn't really know what happened.

Blaine's memories of the night are a little hazy, which Ben supposes is something of a blessing. It surprises him, however, that his own memories aren't that much better. He remembers the phone ringing -- he remembers that vividly, how the receiver felt in his hand, cool and smooth and comforting. He remembers a shaky voice, asking for Mr. Anderson. The rest is all fragments; the car keys in his hand, a blast of acid jazz from the radio before Miranda reached to turn the volume off with trembling hands. He spent five minutes driving through the parking garage, out into the street, and back through the parking garage again before he could remember how to park the minivan. On the way across the parking lot, he'd stepped straight into a puddle and felt the cold water coming up over the top of his shoe, soaking into his sock. Miranda had run ahead of him, her coat billowing behind her, making her look like a ghost.

Mostly, he remembers Blaine's face: his eyes nearly swollen shut, his lip split, the bruises already starting to show against his skin, unnaturally pale in the flourescent lights of the hospital.

He remembers how it felt to not even recognize his own son.

 

*

 

He thinks that, under other circumstances, he might have learned to like Kurt Hummel.

The boy is polite, quiet, well-spoken. He's more flamboyant than Ben would have liked -- too flamboyant by half, really -- but his eyes are wide and guileless, his hands delicate, and there's something gentle about him, in his voice and in the way he carries himself. Most importantly, he smiles whenever he looks at Blaine, which is often; and although the two of them don't really touch, there is a palpable affection between them. Under any other circumstances, Ben could have learned to like him.

As it is, the best he can manage is a tight smile and a careful distance.

Miranda does the talking; she usually does anyway, so it's not like this is at all unusual. And Ben stands back in the shadows, watching Blaine and Kurt pose for pictures, smile after smile, and he wonders how this quiet, polite, gentle boy can be so cavalier with his son's life. With his own life, even. The kilt isn't the problem, not really; the problem is _them_. Looking at each other. Smiling at each other. It doesn't really matter what they wear; they're obviously infatuated with each other, perhaps even in love. And that is what paints the target on their backs. The kilt is merely an extra excuse, something they can tack on after the fact to explain why they did what they did. Why they hurt his son.

He wonders, briefly, if Kurt's father will be able to recognize _his_ son when it's all over.

Then he slips quietly into his study and closes the door behind him, settling onto the couch and retreating behind his paper, to hate Kurt Hummel in peace.

 

*

 

It was four in the morning before they were allowed to take Blaine home.

Miranda sat with him, his head leaning on her shoulder, her hand curled around his elbow. She fell asleep almost at once. But whenever Ben looked in the rearview mirror to check on his son, he saw Blaine's eyes open, staring back at him, a little glazed-over but still awake.

"I danced," Blaine announced, finally, his voice sleepy and slurred, and Ben had to resist the urge to pull a U-turn and drive him straight back to the hospital. The doctor had said repeatedly that Blaine would probably be a little confused for the next few days, and that it was nothing to worry about, but the doctor clearly didn't know a damned thing. They could go back and find someone else, someone better... "Dad? Are we home yet?"

Ben bit his lip, and kept going straight. "Just about."

"Oh." Blaine winced as the car hit a rougher stretch of road; there was too much goddamned construction in this town, and Ben was sick of it, he really was. "Dad? I danced. With Tyler. It was nice. Tyler's really nice."

"Good," Ben said, because he could think of nothing else to say. He hadn't actually seen Tyler at the hospital; he had no idea what had happened to him, and frankly, he didn't really care. "That's good."

The road smoothed out underneath them. Blaine's eyes closed; he shifted so he was more firmly nestled against his mother's shoulder. "My head hurts," he said, quietly. "Are we home yet?"

Ben swallowed hard. "Soon," he promised. "Soon."

 

*

 

The first text message comes through at 10:23. _Leaving the school now._

The second comes two minutes later. _Made it to Kurt's car._

Ben knows that, should he choose to, he could go to bed now. Climb up the stairs, lay down next to Miranda. If she asks him whether he's heard from Blaine, he can say "Yes" with a clear conscience. He can stop worrying now. He can relax.

Instead, he sits in his study with his phone in his hands, waiting, waiting, and when it finally rings, he doesn't bother with his usual greeting. "Blaine?"

"Hey, Dad." Blaine sounds a little tired, maybe, a little... heavy somehow, but his voice isn't slurred and thick with pain. "Wasn't sure if you'd still be up."

There is nothing, really, for Ben to say to that, so he simply ignores it. "Are you at the Hummels', then? Settling in for the night?"

There's a pause from the other end of the line. "Yeah," Blaine says, finally. "I mean, yes. Yes, sir. Kurt's talking to his stepbrother -- he kind of... there was kind of a fight. Not us, though. Kurt's stepbrother. He... I don't know. Some sort of relationship thing, fighting over a girl; I'm still not totally sure what's going on."

"Was anyone hurt?"

Blaine takes a deep breath. "Everyone's fine," he says. There's a pause. "I mean, no one was hurt. It was shoving, mostly. Anyway, Kurt's stepbrother got kicked out, so he missed... He missed the rest of it."

Ben still hasn't really relaxed. It's the way Blaine corrected himself when he said that everyone was fine; it's the way he says _he missed the rest of it_ like the words are somehow significant. But as much as Ben wants to know what happened, he can't quite seem to find the words to ask.

Nor is he entirely certain that Blaine would really answer.

"Did you dance at all? With Kurt, I mean."

"Yeah," Blaine says, sounding a little startled. "Yeah, actually. I did."

"Good," Ben says. "That's good."

They're quiet for a moment.

"And you'll be home in the morning," Ben says, when the silence has stretched on for too long and he feels his self-control starting to waver. He has no idea why he's still so tense. Perhaps he won't relax until Blaine is home. Perhaps even that won't be enough.

"Yes, sir," Blaine says, quietly. "I -- I should probably start getting ready for bed. I just thought... I just thought I should call you. In case you were up."

Ben closes his eyes. "I'm glad you did," he says, when he can't think of anything else to say. "I'll see you in the morning."

"'Night, Dad," Blaine says.

"Goodnight," Ben says, and hangs up the phone before he can say anything else.

He can go to bed now. He can relax. He can stop worrying.

He stays where he is, with the phone in his hands, and waits for morning.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Man Behind the Curtain [Cover Art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6655573) by [greeniron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeniron/pseuds/greeniron)




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